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Show Motherlunge a novel 116 18. The Eventual Nurse The radio was on in the kitchen and Pavia was pouring herself a cup of coffee. She was wearing a black skirt suit with a blazer that tied in a bow in the back; a Potemkin suit, all business up front and femininity behind. I had just come into the kitchen, bringing the newspaper off the front steps, when she let out a small, terrified laugh and put her coffee cup down. She peered down at her drenched nylons and shoes: the amniotic sac had broken like a water balloon dropped from a fraternity house balcony. The floor, I thought suddenly, the floor should have been mopped more recently. Why hadn't Pavia mopped it? Didn't she care? Fluid gleamed on the floor. "I'll call a taxi," I said, "And Jack's work." Pavia went upstairs to change clothes and get her bag for the hospital. I called the taxi, and then Pavia's office and my office. I called Jack and left a message. When Pavia came back down the stairs she was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants pulled up as far as her thighs. She was holding a rolled towel between her knees and was pressing it against her crotch with both hands, reaching down around her belly. She shuffled toward me. . "Not sure," she said, as if I'd asked a question. "I'm still leaking. Leaking like a ....what?" She stopped for a moment, feeling something uterine or just trying to recall the |